


Bring Me Home

by Vivaliant



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Eventual Sterek, M/M, Mild Angst, Slow Burn, Teen Wolf AU, funny?, like realllllllllly slow burn, sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 18:53:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2865251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivaliant/pseuds/Vivaliant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek were best friends, once, long ago. They haven’t spoken in four years, until one unexpected day Stiles comes back into Derek’s life again.<br/>Sloooooow build. Slooooooow burn Sterek.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Me Home

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is. I have been in the fandom for a couple of years, and while I have read a lot and I mean a LOT, this is my first Teen Wolf fic. Honestly, this is my first fic in six years. I promised myself that this year, I am going to write 500 words everyday, and this chapter(?) is what happened. So, look forward to short chapters like this everyday! I am thinking about making this a a long serial fic. Thank you for giving this confused little story, as it slowly finds its wings, a chance! HUGS and KISSES! :)
> 
> p.s. this is unbeta'd. If you catch a mistake please let me know. Thank you!

Stiles shuffled over and sat down on the steps leading to the pond near Bethesda Terrace in Central Park. It was a remarkably warm day for December, almost 60. He closed his eyes and tipped his face up to the sun. 

The strange patterns made by the phosphine light seeping through his eyelids, the cool scent of water, and the reprieve of silence from the busy noises of the city all conspired to loosen the knot of tension in his shoulder. He was so constantly ON, that he had forgotten what it felt like to just enjoy a moment of sunlight in his own company.

In that unguarded moment, all the worries he tried to keep at bay rushed in. He dropped his face in his hand. The sun warmed his neck, and the breeze ruffled through his long, shaggy hair. He concentrated on the sensations to stop himself from falling into panic.

He was just so tired, Stiles thought with a sigh. It wasn’t a physical hurt so much as just a soul deep sense of weariness. He was tired of running, tired of wrestling his memories, and tired, so chillingly, achingly tired of pretending. He could feel the mask sliding off his face each time he laughed. He wondered how his friends couldn’t tell the difference, how they couldn’t see beneath the pitifully thin surface of his joy. 

New York, and the people he was tied to there was slowly destroying his soul. The city was loud and harried and the press of the crowd left him breathless and feeling profoundly empty. There was no place for him there in the sea of crashing humanity. 

He didn’t even know why he had picked New York City of all places to spend the last half-year. A part of him helpfully tried to whisper the true reason, but he firmly and thoroughly squashed that voice. He was enjoying his denial-pity party, thank you very much.

But he really did need rest, and silence and some place where he could heal. He stuck his hand in the pocket of his scuffed, brown leather jacket, and took out that picture of the little cottage with wild roses tumbling all over it. He stared at it thoughtfully. 

Maybe this is just what he needed. He would talk to Isaac, his agent, and tell him he was done with NYC and the literary scene. And if Isaac didn’t want the golden goose that wrote the golden best seller to burn out, or, and this was a distinct possibility, take a flying leap into the East River, he wouldn’t make a single peep about the move. 

Well, this was Isaac, he wouldn’t exactly whine. He would just look at Stiles with his wide, china-doll eyes and make him feel guilty. The thought brought a wry twist to Stiles’ mouth. But that smile didn’t last. A pinched frown took over his face, and dug unhappiness on the corners of his full mouth. 

He gripped the rough cement of the steps, the edge dug into the meat of his palm. Something not quite a smile bent Stile’s mouth in self-mockery. How long is he going to punish himself for a mistake made in the heedlessness of love?

He had come to New York with so much hope, but maybe he needed to learn this lesson for the final time, and whatever deity willing, he has finally learned it. He was tired of being heart-shattered. Perhaps, this time he had paid his due in full, and he could allow himself to let go of the fear and guilt and obligation and just do what made him happy.

**Author's Note:**

> I am [Vivaliant](http://vivaliant.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. Come say hi!


End file.
